Petrified Sofa Stuffing
by Kuro The Dark Ringmaster
Summary: Arthur is tired of Alfred calling his scones, "Petrified Sofa Stuffing," every time he served them to him. So he seeks out advice from the professional! Francis. Will he finally be able to show Arthur a way of baking edible scones or will the American get beyond jealous? US/UK, hints of FrUK AU BL
1. Chapter 1

_This is going to be a fun little three shot. Lemon to come, trust me. Anyway I hope you enjoy as both Alfred and Arthur attempt o get their feelings across to one another. This chapter is NOT RELATED to "Something More" it's just a little something I have been thinking about posting. _

_Enjoy,_

_Kuro._

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**Part 1: Preheat**

The kitchen smelled wonderful as the time rang, the smell of buttermilk filled the air. The buzzer was silence in a swift motion as a hand quickly opened the oven and looked inside. Resting on the tray was a batch of slightly burnt scones, slender shoulders fell and a sigh was released as he reached for an oven mitt. "Not again, why do they keep burning," he groaned as he reached into the oven and pulled them out. The pan was hot and he hissed with irritation as his green eyes swept over the tray. Every one of them was dark brown, bushy eyebrows lifted with irritation as he grabbed a spatula and chiseled the scone off the tray. As he expected the bottom was charcoal black, "Not again," he grumbled as he turned around and walked across the room. He swept passed the island which rested in the middle of the room, it was covered in a thick blanket of flower. The bowl had been well used and the remnants of multiple batches rested there. He heard a knock at the door and looked in its general direction; he hadn't been expecting company quite yet. "Arthur, come on dude open up!" called a rather loud and playful voice. Instantly Arthur knew who it was, Alfred, the American. He sighed as he looked at them, "Arthur? Are you okay?" asked a panicked Alfred. Before the Englishman could respond Alfred threw the door open.

"Artie I smell smoke! Are you okay!" he shouted and Arthur could hear his feet pound the floor. Arthur watched the tall young man slide across the floor and stop before him, his bright blue eyes were wide with fear and Arthur felt the heat seep through the mitts, he was still holding the pan. He felt the heat reach his skin and searing pain shot through his hand. "Bugga," he hissed as the pan fell from his fingers and clattered to the floor. The mitt fell from his fingers and he cradled his hand, in a flash he felt cold water on it. Alfred had grabbed his wrist and held his hand under the icy cold water. Alfred's hands were larger than he remembered, "Artie, why didn't you pay attention to the tray?" asked Alfred with a hint of exasperation. He didn't like Arthur's scones to begin with, and now he was more upset, "If you're going to cook pay attention," he snapped as his thumb touched the sensitive skin on Arthur's hand. Part of Arthur began to wonder when Alfred had grown up to be such a wonderful man. He could only imagine what he would be like with a wife.

"Are you okay?" asked Alfred after a moment and Arthur was snapped back to reality. The Englishmen simply nodded and looked at him, "Yes," he replied before turning his attention to the mess on the floor. He slowly whipped his hand and was about to start cleaning when Alfred grabbed his shoulder. "Sit," he stated as he slowly pushed Arthur down so he was sitting on the stool. Before he could protest Alfred was in his medicine cabinet and pulling out a tube of aloe which he had clearly stashed in there. He smiled sadly, Alfred remembered where everything was in his home. "Hold still, this will hurt a little," he said softly as he opened the tube and slowly put some on his fingers. Arthur's emerald eyes fell on Alfred, as he felt him gently rub the clear gel on his burn. It was cold and stung a little, but that sensation slowly began to dim, as his warm fingers slowly rubbed it in.

"Why do you insist on baking those dumb things?" asked Alfred with irritation. Arthur was snapped from his musings and looked at the young American. His eyes were filled with confusion, "They taste horrible," snapped Alfred. Arthur sighed; once again he had hurt his pride. In truth he baked them just for Alfred, he could remember the time he spent in the kitchen and how Alfred would sit at the table and read. He was quite a beautiful child and Arthur was proud to be his older brother. "Honestly, enough is enough, now you're burning yourself," said Alfred, Arthur glared. He didn't like being treated like he was a child, "You have no right, I can do as I please, I don't need you to dictate what a can and can not do," he bit. Arthur was on his feet and his eyes narrowed dangerously, "I was making them for you, you git!" he roared. He watched as Alfred turned red and yelled, "I never asked for them! I've told you hundreds of times that I can't stand them!" he pointed at the tray on the floor as he shouted. Arthur felt his pride as an Englishman being run through; naturally he would prepare tea and scones for a guest. "How dare you," he hissed as he slipped out of the apron and threw it on the table. "You have no idea do you? Have you forgotten even the most basic of principle?" he roared. His hands were in the air, face bright red and he looked as though he had lost it. "We have customs! Hospitality and etiquette before all else!" he spat.

He remembered his harsh lessons and training to be the man he was. To contain his emotions, keep calm and always look for the next move. "You are a guest!" he snarled as he pointed harshly at Alfred, "You wanker!" Alfred took a step backward and lifted his hands defensively, "A guest?" he asked softly. His ocean blue eyes changed, he looked slightly wounded, "Yes, a guest!" Arthur spat. Alfred's hands balled into fists at his sides, his knuckles turned white and he trembled slightly. "Is that all I am, a guest?" he asked glacially, the very sound of the word guest bore a hint of acid as he flicked it from his tongue. "Yes," Arthur responded quickly, his cold and distant tone was more than enough to get the point across. "No Arthur you're the one who doesn't understand!" he shouted. Arthur had enough, he was tired of fighting, tired of being generally treated like the underdog, and tired of always being trampled on by the young man. "I've had it," snapped Arthur as he marched out of the kitchen. "Where the fuck are you going?" Alfred yelled.

The Englishmen continued to walk through the house, he didn't respond. "Arthur!" shouted Alfred demandingly, "We aren't finished!" he spat. Arthur reached the door and responded, "Out, and yes we are!" Before Alfred could utter another syllable, the Englishman was out the door and marching away from the house. He was fuming and felt as though he had been betrayed. He had raised Alfred, protected him and loved him, only for him to be snapped at and criticized. It began to rain and Arthur hissed, he didn't grab his jacket and he could feel the water soaking through his clothes. The water poured from above, he became drenched as he walked through the streets. The logical thing to do would be to head home, but he wasn't ready to face Alfred. Not after that fight, he loved Alfred, he always had. He just couldn't figure out how to say it. Before he even realized where he was going he found himself standing outside of a rather flamboyant house. It was surrounded by roses and he could smell the sweetness of pastries from inside. He groaned as his eyes swept over the statues and perfectly manicured carpet of grass, the house was the epitome of French architecture. "Bloody hell, why of all times does that frog have to be baking?" he asked as he opened the small gate and crossed the porch. He rang the doorbell, the sound of the French national anthem played and he groaned. The name Francis Bonneyfoy was written in elegant script, "The concept of humility is lost on him," commented Arthur as he waited for the Frenchman to open the door.

"Oui, oui, je veux en venire!" he called as he quickly opened the door, "Merde, je peut effectivement perdre la quiche cette fois." His eyes widened as he looked at the Englishman standing in his doorway, he looked around curiously and then back to Arthur. "I believe you have the wrong house monsieur, yours is that way," he said as he pointed down the street. Arthur stood there before him, drenched, cold and wounded. He honestly couldn't understand why his instincts took him to see Francis but, at this point he could care less. Arthur could tell that Francis was honestly concerned about the Englishman coming to take jabs at him. "I'm not here to fight," he commented as he looked at his shoes. Francis was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed and a navy blue towel over his shoulder. He had a black apron around his waist and a pair of chefs pants on. It was apparent that he had spent a bulk of his day cooking, "Oh? So why have you come to see me? If it's to go drinking again I naturally will come however, it's a little early in the day for that, non?" he asked smoothly. Arthur sighed and looked up at the man; it was a mystery to him why he even went to the man's house. "Unless you are looking for someone to show you a good time," he commented in a sensual voice. Arthur grit his teeth and hissed, "I don't have any issues in that department! I need," he dropped his voice and muttered, "advice." He looked at the Frenchman and noticed a look of shock on his face, "You aren't here for a fight, Angleterre?" he stammered.

Arthur rubbed his temples and replied, "No, I'm not! Okay!" Francis' gaze softened and he moved to the side, "Venez, I will make us some tea," he said kindly. Arthur nodded his appreciation as he entered. Francis vanished for a moment and returned with a plush white towel, "Here, you're dripping," he said as he tossed it to the Englishman. Arthur caught it and nodded with appreciation. The house smelled of sweets and he slowly walked through the halls, which were covered in frescoes and filled with statues. It was bright and warm in the man's house and he felt as though he was trespassing. Francis sighed as he walked into his massive and open kitchen, which intimidated Arthur. It was apparent that Francis spent a great deal of time in this room; it was warm and reminded him of the French countryside. He noticed the wine cooler off to the side and the rack by the stove. Knife blocks were clean and he could tell the cutting boards were used. Stainless steel glistened in the light which poured through the window. He looked over to see that he had a massive oven and gaped at the man's six burner stove. Francis was busying himself with the kettle, "So tell me, what brings an Englishman to my home?" he asked curiously as he lit the burner and placed the kettle on the stove.

Arthur took a seat on one of the bar stools and looked down at his hands. He honestly didn't know where to begin; Francis was always open with his evening affairs. "It's about Alfred," Arthur began, there was a clatter in the background and he looked up to see Francis staring at him in confusion, a tin of tea had fallen from his hands. "What?" Francis asked, "Is he alright?" There was panic in his voice, momentarily the serious Francis was there, and it was a rare sight. "Yes, I think I'm the one who isn't," he replied nervously. It had to be that there was something wrong with him, after all it was Alfred who was alright. The Frenchman crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, he looked slightly confused but a warm smile curled his lips. "What do you mean?" he asked softly. It was clear he was standing there to avoid touching Arthur. "He's grown up and I," Arthur paused, he had no idea what he felt. His head was a mess, everything made little sense at this point. Alfred was like a younger brother to him, he had protected the boy all his life. Supported him only for him to turn on him during the Revolution, he was faced with him and asked to pull the trigger. The same emotion which had prevented him from doing it the first time filled him now.

A familiar pair of arms encircled him and Arthur was snapped from his painful memory. He could feel the prickled of stubble from the Frenchman's chin. "You haven't been this conflicted in a long time," commented the familiar lush voice behind him. It wasn't as beautiful as Alfred's, it was a little harsher from years of smoking. "I don't know what to do," whispered Arthur. He felt Francis release him after a moment and turn his attention to the angry red mark on Arthur's skin. "Is that a burn?" asked Francis slightly panicked. His hands wrapped around Arthurs and he examined it, "Angleterre, were you baking again?" he asked after a moment. The Englishman nodded and looked into a pair of furious blue eyes; he honestly didn't want to hear Francis yell at him as well for his food. "You burnt yourself over scones? What were you thinking you stupid sheep!" shouted Francis. One of the Frenchman's hands slipped over his face in exasperation, "You have to be more careful, this is why Alfred gets irritated with you," he commented as the kettle whistled. Francis whisked it off the burner and Arthur was on his feet, "What do you mean, frog?" he hissed.

Francis paused as he opened a glass French press, "Did you notice, he still looks up to you. He's concerned about you. He was going over to your house to see if you were alright," he commented. He poured the hot water into the press and allowed the leaves to soak. Arthur was greeted by the overwhelming smell of tea. Alfred was concerned about him, the statement seemed too far fetched for the Englishman to understand. "You didn't look right at the meeting, he was afraid you weren't feeling well," Francis commented and leaned on the counter. Arthur's green eyes shot up and he looked at the Frenchman's face, there wasn't a hint of malice or annoyance, for once he was being honest. "You bottle your emotions up and hide them so well, that he was afraid that one day you might not be able to carry on," he stated as he slipped a strand of his long blond hair behind his ear. Arthur sat there dumbfounded for a moment, that was why Alfred was at his house. He paused and looked at Francis, "You care for him, Arthur, we all know you do," he commented. It wasn't that obvious he had worked hard to hide his feelings, to lock them away so they would be safe. That wasn't true, they had bubbled up during the revolution. "Mon Chere, you love him. Not as a brother," Francis said after a moment.

The buzzer ripped through the air and Arthur jumped, the oven door fell open and the smell of a wonderful quiche filled the room. "Ah, tres beau!" Francis gushed as he pulled the pan out and placed it off to the side to cool. He looked at Francis and asked after a moment, "How long have you known?" Francis sighed and looked over at him, his eyes were filled with a distant sadness. "Long enough to stop being in love with you," he replied honestly. Francis' face morphed into one of sadness and he sighed. One of his hands rubbed the back of his neck nervously and he smiled, one which nearly broke Arthur's heart. Francis flirted with everyone, yet if he had known of the Frenchman's feelings beforehand he would have given him a chance. He shook his head and scoffed at himself, he wouldn't have, he would have pushed him away. "I'm sorry," commented the Englishmen, he suddenly felt as though he had shot the man. Francis held his hands up and laughed, "No blood no foul," he commented with a grin. It was clear he had been hanging out with Alfred.

Green eyes fell on the quiche again and he smiled after a moment, "Francis, could you help me with something?" he asked. There was a pause as the Frenchman reached into the cupboard and pulled out a pair of porcelain cups. It was one of the few things which Arthur appreciated about Francis, the fact that he still pulled out porcelain to serve tea. "With what?" he asked hesitantly as he placed the black and white cup before Arthur. The Englishman simply smiled and replied, "Baking, I want you to teach me how to bake scones which Alfred will eat." Francis paused and crossed his arms to think for a moment. "A recipe to make scones edible…" he mused and then grinned, "Ohonhonhon, I know just the one, and then you two can spend some wonderful time together," he proclaimed. It was apparent that Francis was back to his usual self.


	2. Chapter 2

_For those of you who read this earlier, don't panic! I broke chapter 1 into 2 chapters. Continue reading to the third chapter for the new stuff. This just made it less dense and easier to read. I hope you enjoy and sorry for the confusion. _

_~Kuro._

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**Part 2: Mix**

After about two hours of Francis drilling Arthur about baking and how to avoid making inedible food, he was finally free to go. With the occasional awkward touch and comment made by the Frenchman he was oddly tame. Then again he had confessed over a century of feelings for the difficult Englishman. Resting in his hands was a stack of recipe cards, as predicted Francis had a way to make scones edible by French standards. If the French frog would eat it, chances were Alfred would too. Fortunately he had all of the ingredients to make this batch at his house. Francis took the liberty of walking Arthur through the steps not once, but five times to ensure he didn't mess them up. There were even "idiot proof notes," as he affectionately called them, in the margins. He walked up the steps to the door of his house, in moments the door was open. "Alfred?" he called curiously as he entered, "Alfie?" he called once again.

The house was still and he felt alone again, it was a feeling he was accustomed to after both of his brothers moved. Arthur's shoulders heaved a sigh before he continued into the kitchen and looked at Francis' cards. He was determined to do this, he had to get this right for Alfred. "Okay so preheat the oven to 204°C," he muttered as he read the card allowed and did as instructed. Francis had emphasized that it was important to make sure the oven was at temperature and remained stable as they cooked. _"Angleterre, if it is off by the slightest degree they will not puff up and then turn out like bricks, or your excuse for a scone,"_ Francis had explained. As much as his English pride was hurt by the comment he knew it was true. His eyes were locked on the card as he read the next set of ingredients, "Flour, unprocessed sugar, baking powder, salt, an orange, unsalted butter, 4 eggs, heavy cream," he read allowed.

All he wanted to do was make something he knew Alfred would love, in moments he had the ingredients out on the counter and was grabbing his electric mixer from the corner. Francis suggested that another reason his scones constantly failed was the fact that they weren't mixed properly. Arthur preferred to do the batter by hand, however, Francis made it quite clear that it was ineffective and suggested using the mixer instead. The image of the Frenchman keeping his distance as he explained what the batter should look like as they went along, insisting that Arthur make notes so he would remember what it was supposed to look like. In truth he didn't expect Francis to confess, the frog was always flirting with everyone. His wounded expression lingered for a moment before Arthur continued making the mixture. Oddly, the Frenchman was considerate after stating his feelings and didn't make a pass again on him.

With a silver measuring cup from the drawer he measured out the flower and used a tablespoon for the baking powder. The two white substances sat for a moment in the bowel as he looked at the cards again, "Add sugar, orange zest and a little salt," he read allowed. The smell of oranges filled the room as he slowly shaved the rind of the orange and allowed it to fall into the bowel. The smell was heavenly, a welcome wake up from the scones which he had been producing before. Perhaps this would get his point to Alfred, _"Cooking is about expressing your feelings to another person through food, to create taste which leaves the person happy and warm," Francis had commented as he adjusted the speed on the mixer, "Good food brings people together, and when the chef's heart is in it, magic happens at the dining table."_

Even though he was English he could understand Francis' point, it wasn't that his food was bland, it was, but it also lacked something the French had passion for, heart. Food with heart and soul, a taste which made the person eating it understand what the chef was thinking. He had witnessed this with Francis', Yao's, Kiku's and even Antonio's cooking. Even Ludwig and Vash were affectionate when they cooked. Green eyes fell on the silver bowl of the mixer, it was time to add the butter. As directed he slowed it and reached for the carton of unsalted butter. "Three quarters of a pound of butter," he said as he felt it soften in his hands. He had seen Francis soften the butter before putting it in, it seemed to make mixing easier. "Add slowly so it becomes pea sized chunks for smooth blending," he muttered as he took a knife and meticulously did so. "What if he doesn't like them?" he whispered as he watched the blades beat the batter into a stiff mix.

In truth, there was only one person Arthur made scones for, and that was Alfred. He always had one pot of tea, one of coffee and scones waiting for their meetings. It was his excuse to keep Alfred with him longer. "4 eggs," he commented as he cracked them into a separate glass to prevent shells from getting into the batter, once he had broken all four eggs. He lifted the glass to the silver bowl and watched the yellow yokes slip out of the clear glass. He slowed the blender again, and walked across the kitchen to the cabinet, he needed a container to flour the cranberries. By doing this Francis had explained that it would prevent them from clustering in the middle, which often happened. He placed some flour in the container and then gave the withered dried berries a quick toss so they were all coated. The cranberries were sweet and would accent the orange zest which, he had put in the bowel earlier. He looked at the mixer as he tapped the cranberries out of the container, the combination of the fruit and the orange was to die for. It made his stomach growl in anticipation.

Once he had finally gotten the last few cranberries out of the container, he turned his attention to the glass cutting board. All he could think about was how much he loved Alfred. He paused for a moment and whispered, "What did he mean by that?" Alfred's harsh tone and bitter words hung in his ears, he understood everything about Alfred, the only thing he didn't was what he had meant by "Is that all you think of me?" Naturally he saw Alfred as a guest, but he also saw him as so much more. He was the young man he admired, a powerful one who was determined to protect not only his beliefs but those he cared for. Those large hands cradled those in need and fought those who would harm others. The batter had firmed up a great deal and was finally ready to be pulled from the bowel, folded and cut into triangles. He had a pan prepared, it was lined with brown parchment and ready for the scones to be placed on it. The oven was up to temperature and he was making quick work of folding the dough over and over again. With each fold he thought about Alfred, his smile, his curiosity and most importantly his touch. Arthur wanted to keep it all for himself, he didn't want a woman to indulge in it. He knew it was wrong to be selfish, but he honestly couldn't stand the thought of Alfred being with a woman.

Alfred was sitting in the garden with a guitar on his lap, he didn't expect to see Arthur storm out of the house like that, he was always level headed, to see him that irritated was something new. He had called Antonio to relax and hoped that somehow the Spaniard had some divine wisdom for him. He nearly confessed his feelings for the Englishman, he knew he would have to eventually, but that didn't feel like the right moment. To tell him that he had been in love with Arthur since he was a teenager would disturb him. The sound of his guitar carried as he gently strummed, Antonio suggested that he should just confess to him, it was clear that he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings much longer. "What do I do?" he muttered as he looked at the neck of his guitar. He didn't want to yell at Arthur, he was sweet, gentle and had a smile which made him weak at the knees. At times he was serious; however, he also knew that playful and whimsical side of him. The Arthur which, loved fairies and telling folklore, who would read him tales of what it was like during medieval times and of the clash between nights, the magic of pirates on their ships, and the wonders of the world. "I'm not being much of a hero right now," he muttered as he leaned against a tree, "I'm being a coward."


	3. Chapter 3

_Here is the new Chapter! Sorry for the confusion! Anyway I hope you enjoy this one! Please note that everything in italics is Alfred's memory of his conversation with Antonio, I felt that it was necessary for you to understand what happens in the kitchen with Arthur later. _

_I also want to thank all of you who have commented, followed and favorited this story. I'm glad you like it! mochiusagi, hanamiyoko1, Esmeraude11 and Guest, thanks for your reviews! I would also love to thank Baka neko-san, British Traveler, FluffyWhitePandas, Moonlit dark, NoxDawn24642, Senselessscribbles, TheFannishaUsui, XXShyNightmareXX, Zemmno, apple abs, lilred3394 and luckei, for Following this piece. Finally, thank you Baka neko-san, CrazyAnimeChild15, FluffyWhitePandas and TheFannishaUsui for adding this piece to your favorites! _

_I know really long thank you section but you guys are worth it!_

_Enjoy,_

_~Kuro._

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**Part 3: Bake**

The lonesome sound of chords being plucked slowly echoed as he gently strummed. His fingers danced up and down the neck as he continued at a slow waltz. His fingers slipped against the nylon strings which he was using; Antonio had suggested learning classical guitar for better guitar solos. He smiled sadly as he remembered why Antonio had popped his head over the fence.

"_Alfred, why do you sound as though you want to cry?" asked the Spaniard before he hopped over the white fence and landed softly in the grass bellow. There was a bright and colorful band around his shoulder and Alfred could see the golden guitar on his back. His green eyes sparkled in the sun and his tan skin seemed to make the dreariness fade a little from the wet nation. "I'm not," Alfred replied hastily, he pushed up his glasses and huffed. He didn't want to listen to Antonio, even if he would be the one with the answer. "But it's a heartbreaking sound, what happened?" he asked as he slipped his guitar off and joined Alfred in the grass. The American paused and looked at the man beside him, "Have you ever been in love with someone but they don't love you back?" he asked hesitantly. _

_Antonio shifted as he picked up his guitar and caressed the wood with his fingers. "Unrequited?" asked Antonio in confusion, it was as though the concept made no sense to him. Alfred sighed, Antonio was romantic, fun and utterly sophisticated when it came to matters of the heart. Alfred wasn't, he tried to be, he was around women and other men but not Arthur. Arthur could see every one of his faults and he felt as though he could hide nothing. He plucked a few more strings, "I love him so much, what if he pushes me away?" he asked softly. He was so afraid of loosing the Englishman that it had become difficult to think of anything else. Antonio adjusted the guitar and smiled, _

"_What have I told you about a guitar, Alfred?" he asked curiously as he checked each of his pegs and positioned his fingers on the neck. Alfred was silent and waited for the Spaniard to provide the answer. "They're like lovers, you have to caress them. When you hurt, they feel your pain, they cry with you," he stated as he began to gently strum. "When you are happy, they jump for you," he commented, Alfred's eyes were locked on the intricate technique which Antonio was using. It was soft, florid and seemed to conjure an emotion long forgotten in Alfred. There was a brief pause, Antonio's fingers had stopped their dance and he released a sigh. "You have to be honest with a guitar, or you will sound bad. Arthur is the same, he's raised you and taken care of you for so long that he doesn't realize how you feel," he stated as he lowered his hands and looked at Alfred. _

_Antonio relaxed visibly as his eyes glided up and down the neck of his own guitar, he always took excellent care of it. In many ways it was the Spaniard's soul, the instrument had gotten him through long and tough times, Alfred knew that. "Just tell him how you feel, it's better to confess than to walk around with this kind of thing hanging over you," he stated bluntly. Alfred rubbed the back of his neck nervously, "Look I know he doesn't love me like that, why would I do that? He would pull further away and tell me to go to hell," he commented. Arthur would run for the hills when he found out Alfred was gay and even blame himself for raising Alfred improperly. He wasn't sure how he could take that, he didn't think he could survive that. _

_Antonio grabbed Alfred's face harshly, "You are acting like a coward," he stated bluntly, "You have to be direct with him. He loves you too." _

Alfred's fingers were slow as he began to play once again, naturally he was conflicted, why wouldn't he be. The man who raised him was his first love, which was more than enough to trouble him. Today he was at the end of his rope, "Guest huh?" he asked as he continued. The word was cold, harsh and sliced through him like a knife. He didn't want to be a guest; he wanted to be a lover. Someone allowed in Arthur's bedroom at night and could hold the Englishmen tight, to protect him and cherish him. "Damn it," he moaned as his fingers fell off the neck of the guitar, "Damn it all." The ground was soggy from the rain earlier and he felt it squish as he got up and walked back toward the house. He was dreading entering the Englishman's home, why he was still there was a mystery to him. After watching Arthur storm out he decided to wait until her returned. The aroma of oranges and cranberries greeted the young American as he reached the back door. "Huh?" he mused, his eye brows knitted together as he reached for the door.

He gently pushed the door open to see a familiar sight before him, he was a child again in Arthur's house. His back was to Alfred and the American could see the neatly tied bow of his black apron. The oven was open, and he watched as sandy blond hair fell in the Englishman's eyes as he bent over the pan with scones on it. A wooden basing brush was in his hand, his movements were gentle and sweet as he applied a wash to them. Alfred felt as though time had stopped, he was baking, Arthur was actually baking. Ocean blue eyes were locked on the Englishman's fingers as they sprinkled light brown colored raw sugar on the top. Once he had completed the task he placed the basting brush in the small white dish with the wash, and clapped his hands. A smile of pride was on his lips as he picked up the pan again with a thick black mitt and placed it in the oven. The oven closed with a thump, Alfred found himself inching ever closer to the Englishman. He was about to interrupt when he noticed Arthur reach into the corner and pull out a timer.

His eyes were locked on the dome in Arthur's hands, resting inside of a clear plastic dome was a hunch of yellow Swiss cheese, it was sitting on the black base, and just above it was a rather hungry looking gray mouse with large ears. He had bought it for Arthur as a Birthday present; he remembered how the Englishman scoffed. Naturally Alfred had also given him a tin of tear however this was far more important to him. Arthur looked at a stack of note cards before twisting the timer and setting it on the counter. Without warning the Englishman turned, his head was lowered as he untied the apron. "Hi," said Alfred after a moment, it seemed to be the only word he could get out of his mouth. Arthur jumped nervously and looked at him, "Oh, hello Alfred," he said hesitantly. His hands were still behind his back and Alfred could tell he was having a hard time untying the apron.

"Want help with that?" he asked hesitantly, he had a feeling that Arthur would simply push him away and laugh, he was always stubborn. There was a pause and the Englishman smiled gently, "Please," he said after a moment, "It would be nice." Alfred stared with disbelief after a moment and hesitantly reached to untie the neatly tied bow. With a tug it came unraveled; he was honestly confused as to why Arthur couldn't do it himself. "Sit, we didn't have a chance to drink our tea before," said Arthur softly, his tone was difficult to read, it was between indifferent and kind. It was actually awkward to be in the same room with him after the event, he had been hoping that Arthur would say something. "I'm sorry," whispered Alfred after a moment, he just couldn't handle the silence anymore, "I was being a jerk." Arthur paused, his hands which had been busy making tea stopped and he leaned on the counter. All Alfred could see was the Englishman's back which made him nervous. He desperately wanted to see Arthur's face so he had some idea as to what he was thinking. To see his back turned was heart wrenching, and part of him prayed Arthur hadn't figured out what he had meant. He watched as those stern shoulders dropped while the Englishman sighed, the motion itself seemed to be one of the few signs that the man before him was beginning to thaw.

"No," Arthur responded, "I shouldn't have lashed out." His hands were flat on the granite counter, his head was dipped and Alfred could tell he was mentally berating himself. "No matter how upset you were, I shouldn't have let my temper control me like that," he stated slowly. It was clear that Arthur had thought about every word, "I'm sorry, Alfred," he said softly as he picked his head up and turned to face him. "I'm so very sorry," he muttered. Alfred was confused for a moment, he wasn't expecting this. The proud Arthur Kirkland was apologizing to him. "Artie, I was the one who practically cursed you out, I was horrible to you! I," Alfred paused and looked at him, "I wanted." He paused, and looked at the counter. It was three words and he couldn't seem to say them, three little words which meant the world, they had so much weight to them it was frightening. Sure he was able to say words like judgment, innocent, guilty, freedom and declaration, but those three words seemed heavier than all of those put together.

"You wanted?" asked Arthur, he was standing before Alfred looking at him curiously. Those green eyes bore into him, he could tell he was looking for an answer. He knew that, he had it, the question seemed to be if he could get those words out. "I," he paused again, "wanted to make sure you were okay, dude. I mean you've been so stressed out lately and every nation was worried," he fibbed. He just couldn't say it, he watched Arthur's expression carefully, he looked a little upset and asked, "Is that all?" Alfred smiled broadly and responded, "Yeah dude! You just looked like you were coming down with something." No that wasn't all, he knew that. Part of him was hoping Arthur would catch him in his lies, see right through them like he always did. "Oh," breathed Arthur as he placed a cup of Earl Gray before the American, he could smell a hint of sugar, it was apparent that he even remembered how Alfred drank his tea.

"What else would it be? What did you think it was?" asked Alfred hurriedly, he was panicking perhaps he did figure it out. He watched Arthur lift his tea cup to his lips and take a sip, savoring the flavor before returning it to its saucer. "Nothing, I'm sorry I was careless before, I'll use thicker mitts, Francis suggested doing so," he stated without thinking. The name it's self made Alfred's stomach churn, he spoke with Francis. The Frenchman had a crush on Arthur for years and he knew it. On more than one accession had he seen the loving look in Francis' eyes when he looked at Arthur, it hurt. "Arthur have you ever been in love?" asked Alfred after a moment. Perhaps he could get the Englishman to admit his love, even if it was for another person.

Arthur nearly choked on his tea and blushed brightly as he turned away from the American. "Dude! You okay?" asked Alfred in a panic as he leapt out of the stool and went to Arthur's aid. The Englishman held up a hand as he hit his chest with his fist in an attempt to clear his throat, "I'm fine," he rasped, "A little surprised though." He closed his emerald green eyes and drew a deep breath, "Why do you ask?" he managed to say, his voice was still horse from choking on the tea. Alfred paused, naturally he would want to know what had prompted him to ask. "I was just wondering," he commented as he leaned on the island and traced the rip of his teacup with his index finger. He could feel the warmth of the liquid bellow spread through the cool porcelain. "I am," responded Arthur after a moment. Of course he had been, he was older than Alfred, "I see," he said after a moment. It took a moment for his brain to process what the man had said. It struck him when he realized Arthur said the word, "am," and not, "was." There was no way he would do that, if there was one thing he knew it was that Arthur was a stickler about the English language. He would never make the elementary mistake of using the wrong tense.

His head jerked up, "Am?" he asked after a moment, his eyes were wide with hope. Arthur's gaze softened a little as he admitted, "Yes I am, at least I think that's what this feeling is," he mumbled. He seemed to be fumbling, the stoic Englishman had been call to center stage to admit his feelings, now Alfred could understand what Antonio meant. "Are you, in love with someone?" asked Arthur hesitantly, he seemed so unsure of his words and actions. It was as though he would fall through a thin layer of ice which held his emotions at bay, at anytime. "Yes," responded Alfred firmly. Arthur smiled a little, "She's a lucky lady," he stated, his eyes hovered on the timer which had somehow made it to the table. It was nearly time for him to pull what he had been baking. "It's not a lady," said Alfred after a moment, his voice was barely audible. Arthur looked confused, "Not a woman?" he asked as he stared wide eyed at Alfred. He didn't seem disgusted, perhaps he was alright with the fact that Alfred was gay, just wouldn't be able to tolerate that he was in love with him. Alfred nodded and looked at the black liquid in the cup, which was slowly getting cold.

"No, I'm in love with," he paused and drew a deep breath, "You." The timer ripped through the air and he looked up to see Arthur's lips parted, he looked shocked. Alfred smiled sadly and reiterated, "I'm in love with you, Arthur." The Englishman was still, he looked confused, shocked and utterly lost, all things which Alfred hoped he wouldn't be. He slowly got up and walked past the man to pull what ever he was baking out. He opened the oven and reached blindly for the black oven mitt. His glasses fogged slightly when he opened the oven, resting on now brown parchment was a batch of triangle shaped scones, they were a beautiful golden brown which, made his mouth water. "You love me?" asked a hesitant voice behind him. The timer's cry was silenced, clearly the Englishman had silenced it, "Yes I do, I love you," he stated nervously as he placed the pan on the top of the stove. He used his foot to close the oven door and gently lifted a scone to look at the bottom. "If it disgusts you, forget about it. I won't come back again if it upsets you," he said hurriedly. He was about to vanish from the room when Arthur grabbed the back of his shirt. Alfred perked up and looked at him; standing behind him blushing bright red was the very man who had raised him. He felt a wave of anxiety wash over him, if he was going to be rejected he hoped Arthur would do so swiftly. He didn't want to get his hopes up to only see them crushed again.


	4. Chapter 4

_Well here is part 4, this may be a 5 part story, sorry guys but I didn't want to give it all away so soon. So hang in there! Now then just a few things…_

_First! Thank you to all of those who are commenting, following and adding this to your favorites. I'm glad you're enjoying my little piece. PiXEL10, PenDev0us thank you for following this piece. SpooNeko, Miss know-all, Dreameroftime, thank you for adding this piece to both your favorites and following. CrazyAnimeChild15 for adding this piece to your favorites. Finally thank you mochiusagi for your review! _

_Second, there is a borderline lemon at the end of this chapter and coming up in Chapter 5. Consider yourselves warned. Those of you who saw it coming… enjoy!_

_Laters,  
Kuro._

_P.s. Francis fans don't worry, he will have a chapter to himself._

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**Part 4: Piping Hot**

Arthur felt frozen, Alfred did feel the same. Internally he was in chaos; part of him was leaping for joy, while the other part was nervous about what would happen if he admitted his love for the American. There seemed to be one thing he knew at that moment, if he released Alfred's shirt he wouldn't confess again. He would laugh it off. At first it seemed like a joke, or at least that was what the Englishman was worried about Alfred seeing it as. Now he knew better, no, he'd always known, those sky blue eyes had always followed him. Yet, what he mistook for admiration and brotherly love was so much more. His fingers clutched Alfred's white cotton tee, it was soft and would wrinkle if he continued to do so. He drew a deep breath and looked up at Alfred before pulling his hand back. "I," he sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "Why don't we have some scones and tea," he finally said. He was honestly feeling like a coward and a ponse at the same time, it was an irritating feeling. Alfred's head dipped; clearly that wasn't what he wanted to hear. "If you're going to reject me, just do it," he spat before turning to walk out the door.

He didn't want him to leave; he couldn't let him, his fingers curled into fists. He had raised Alfred, even if they weren't blood related it was still taboo, well for the frog it wasn't. "_Anglettere_, if you keep thinking of it like that, then none of us would have relationships. After all, we are all related to one another," he had stated. He drew a shaky breath, he knew what he felt, Francis had suggested that he go off of that, and see where it took him. For once he prayed the frog was right, "You bloody git! Let me at least say whether I'm rejecting you or not!" he boomed. Yelling wasn't the best idea, but Alfred would hear him. He watched the taller of the two freeze in the hallway, and turn to him, "Did you know that the spare key is always in the same place? Under the pot in the garden, near the back door? The very same spot we hid it when you were a child," he began. His face was red, naturally he was embarrassed, they had fought hard and ended that relationship so badly that it caused far too much blood and recourses to be spilt. "You used to constantly forget your house keys, so we hid one together in case you lost it, you could always come home," he stated, he was trembling for once. He hoped that his fear would be mistaken for anger by Alfred.

"Please don't make me wait," he managed to say, "I've been waiting for so long, I can't keep waiting." Sky blue eyes were wide and plump lips parted, speechless, it was the first time Alfred was this quiet. "I thought it was because I raised you, this blasted feeling of mine," he spat and looked away at the floor. His emerald-green eyes closed, and he realized it was time to say those three words. "I have always loved you," he admitted, "first as a little brother, and now a lover." His eyes were locked on the floor, in all honesty he wasn't sure if he could make eye contact, for fear that he would break down. He was already broken, but he wanted to keep what little pride he had in tact. The silence was deafening, the stillness was enough to frighten him, and yet he didn't look up. Finally, Arthur turned on his heel and went to storm into the kitchen. "First you confess and then you bloody go silent! What was I supposed to say?" he roared as he attempted to leave the hallway. "Say it again," Alfred finally said after a moment, "Arthur, please say it again."

Alfred's voice was small and soft, it was as though he were a child again. The Englishman spun around to look at the young American. Emerald green eyes met tender sky blues as Arthur lifted his head. Alfred was smiling happily, he honestly looked at though he was going to burst into tears. "I love you too, Alfred," Arthur said with a small and some what confident smile. Yet what he didn't anticipate was what followed. One of Alfred's large hands wrapped around his wrist, before he even realized it he was falling on the floor into the American's broad chest. It was warm, strong and soothing, part of Arthur began to wonder when the American had grown up this much. They landed with a thump on the wooden floor, oddly he didn't care, he was just happy to have his feelings returned. "The scones, those were always for me weren't they?" Alfred asked, his voice rumbled in his chest, and Arthur could hear his heart beat. He nuzzled into him and responded, "Yes, always for you." He buried his face in Alfred's chest as he felt the familiar fire of a blush come on. "The ones in there?" he asked after a moment.

Arthur sat up and looked at Alfred, "Also for you, would you like one?" he asked after a moment. A smile curved those full lips as the blond smiled, "Do you think they're edible?" he asked teasingly. Arthur got up and huffed before striding into the kitchen, "My cooking isn't that bad," he commented. He heard a deep chuckle behind him, it was actually a rather sensual sound, "Well, I've seen your handy work on more than one occasion," commented Alfred as he leaned against the counter. He shook his head as he pulled out a plate and slowly began to remove the scones from the parchment. They were still warm and rather soft, the same texture as when the frog had shown him. He hummed in approval, as he slipped each of the triangles onto the plate. "I think you'll love these," he said with a smile, he honestly hoped Alfred would. He had put so much work into learning how to make them properly.

The shorter slender Englishman turned on his heel before placing the bright blue plate on the island near Alfred's hands. The American simply looked at the scones and then to Arthur. "Who taught you how to bake?" he asked after a moment. There was a pause, if Arthur admitted to seeing Francis about the scones so he could make them Alfred might flip. Yet, if he left that out he would be in more trouble later. "Francis," responded Arthur after a moment. Alfred paled and looked at Arthur, "You went to see the French Pervert?" asked Alfred in anger. He had a feeling this would happen, all he hoped for was that Alfred would cool off like the scones had before doing something stupid. "Yes, I asked for his help," he admitted, it was better to tell the truth now. He watched the American's face turn red with anger, "You said you loved me!" he roared. Once again Alfred has misinterpreted, he sighed and shook his head before responding, "You always said how terrible my cooking was, I wanted to be able to make at least these for you." He slowly reached up and touched Alfred's face, he always did have an adorable pout, "I meant what I said about loving you," he stated.

This seemed to make Alfred simmer down a little, "You still went to the frog," he muttered as he crossed his arms stubbornly. Arthur chuckled, this was a very familiar thing for the American to do, he always did it when he didn't like something. "Even you have to admit that the Frog is the best chef to learn pastries, our Italian friends are probably preoccupied with their lovers," he commented with a chuckle. He wasn't about to get between the German and his lover that was suicide. He watched Alfred's shoulders drop slightly, "I see," he whispered and looked at the plate of scones. "He only taught you how to make them?" he asked skeptically. Clearly Alfred was still a little annoyed, which irritated the Englishman, even when Francis was involved. The Frenchman was a World Class Flirt, and everyone knew it, Alfred himself had been groped on a few occasions by the man. Which irritated the hell out of Arthur. "Well let's give them a try," commented Alfred as he slowly unfolded his arms and tore a piece off of one of the corners.

A smile of delight swept across Arthur's face, he was willing to try them, he was actually willing to taste them. In the past he simply threw them out, or teased him relentlessly and left them on the tray. Arthur's emerald-green eyes locked on Alfred's lips as they parted and he placed the scone in his mouth. They looked soft and warm, he honestly began to wonder what the scone tasted like off of the American's lips. It probably tasted even better than eating one solo. He shook his head and blushed furiously; he had no idea where that thought came from. Alfred purred as he chewed and smiled, "This is amazing! I may not like the Frog, but he certainly knows his stuff!" exclaimed Alfred. He tore off another piece and looked down at the sandy blond-haired Englishman, "Here you try some," he said happily as he held up the corner. Arthur was confused at first until he noticed Alfred had lined it up with his lips. Those long calloused fingers looked even tastier than the scone did, he wasn't going to deny that, he blushed again and looked up at Alfred nervously. He began to wonder if the American knew what he was thinking, those blue eyes which were seemingly innocent now looked anything but. There was a desire in them, and he smiled, perhaps he would indulge a little. After all, his heart was finally satisfied, and Alfred was consenting.

He opened his mouth and closed his eyes as he felt Alfred place the piece in his mouth. He figured it was time to play with the American a little, he claimed to be a hero, and he wanted to see how he was in bed. After all, heroes' always got the girl, well man in this case. Arthur's tongue slipped between Alfred's fingers and collected the piece from them, the American pulled his hand away and left it hanging there. The scone was light and fluffy, it seemed to melt in his mouth just like the ones Francis had made. He savored the medley of cranberries and oranges as he chewed, it was perfect.

He swallowed slowly, his emerald greens lifted, and he grinned mischievously, without hesitation the Englishman slipped his tongue out of his mouth and licked the tips of Alfred's fingers to get the crumbs he had intentionally left. Emerald green eyes held a spark as they flickered up to Alfred's sky blues. His slightly coarse and wet tongue slipped over the calloused fingers of the American. He could taste the salt from his sweat and sweetness of his skin. In his opinion he tasted better than the scone did. A soft groan left Alfred's throat as the Englishman wrapped his lips around Alfred's finger and sucked on it gently. He could feel Alfred's eyes on him and internally grinned, he had a feeling that the American was imagining him licking him other places as well. Hazy sky blue eyes looked down at him as Arthur released Alfred's finger. A string of saliva connected them, like a strand of spider's silk.

"Arthur, you didn't learn that from Francis, did you?" asked Alfred nervously. Arthur looked at the lad and tilted his head to the side, this wasn't like Alfred, he honestly thought the American would have him on the flour covered island. "No, why?" responded Arthur, he was more than a little confused. That should have worked, if Alfred had been the one to suck his fingers he would have felt it. A bright red blush swept across his face, even his ears were bright red, it was actually an amusing sight. "Um, nothing," he responded sheepishly as he adjusted his glasses. Honestly Alfred was asking Arthur to pounce him, with that delicious blush and innocent way, there was little keeping the Englishman at bay. "Alfred, love," he whispered as he slowly swept his fingers through the soft mop of blond hair, "What's the matter?" he finally asked.

Alfred looked at him nervously and shifted a little on one leg, clearly something was consuming him, "I kind of wondered if," he paused and rubbed the back of his neck, he looked away as he did so. "I wanted to, you know, kiss you," he said nervously and blushed even brighter if that were even possible. Arthur smirked and responded, "Not one of those good night pecks we gave one another I hope," he retorted. Alfred's head snapped in his direction, and he looked a little insulted. Alfred slowly bent down a little and pressed his lips to Arthur's they were just as soft as they looked, as if not more so. His eyes fluttered closed, as he felt his lips move against Alfred's the feeling was more than enough to drown him. Before he realized it he was hungrily pressing his lips against Alfred's, they moved fluently it was a pleasant rivalry over who had control. His head was swimming as he gently nipped Alfred's lower lip. The American gasped, which Arthur took as an invitation to take a better taste of Alfred. His tongue slipped into the taller man's mouth and gently caressed his tongue. He could taste the cranberries and orange zest, as well as Alfred. They tangoed as their hot, wet, and soft tongues slipped over one another. Caressing every crevice of Alfred's mouth which, caused a low moan to escape him.

Arthur retreated and left his mouth open hoping Alfred would accept the silent invitation. Alfred's arms wrapped around the Englishman and crusted his small frame against his as his tongue invaded Arthur's mouth. His movements weren't as smooth as Arthur's own which made him question how much experience Alfred really had. He was a little too forceful which made it uncomfortable, Arthur pulled back panting. "Alfred, relax, this isn't about besting one another, it's about pleasure," he purred, "Giving," he commented as one of his hands slipped over Alfred's chest, "and receiving," he commented as his other hand grew closer to Alfred's waist. There was that sweet blush again, it was going to be the death of him, and he knew it. The American licked his lips, "Artie, you didn't tell me you had a tongue piercing," he commented. The Englishman blushed and looked away, "I went through a punk phase," he confessed and sighed. He knew it was still in, and he took care of it, he was just careful to not let Francis or the others see it. Francis had assisted him with it, however, he probably thought he had taken it out.

He glanced up at Alfred, who looked a little nervous, "That's incredibly hot, I heard that people with tongue piercings were incredible kissers," he stated as he looked down at Arthur. "I had no idea it was true," he commented as he looked at the Englishman. Clearly he also hadn't expected it, Arthur smiled and chuckled. Part of him wondered how Alfred would take it if he learned of the other reckless things he had done in his Punk Years. Arthur laughed and whispered, "Oh I've done things which would make even the Frog blush," he commented with a grin. Alfred's lips parted, and he stared, clearly he was amused, who knew catching an American was this easy. "Like?" asked Alfred curiously.


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello, I apologize for the really late update. However, I wanted to get this scene just right. _

_Now for the Thank Yous!_

_For following: eternalJuggalo, jasminhamid98, Vhyna sii semelekete, QueenofEpicFail, xXZeruto LoverXx, Dreameroftime._

_For Commenting: Mochiusagi and hanamiyoko1_

_For adding to Favorites: Baka neco-san and Vhyna sii semelekete_

**_Warning: This Part contains a very graphic and utterly tasty LEMON. If you don't like it, I suggest not scrolling down. Those who want it... ENJOY!_**

_Laters,_

_Kuro._

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**Part 5: It's All About Presentation**

Arthur grinned as he watched Alfred suddenly become interested in his experience. He had played around quite a bit when he was younger, he had even ventured into a night with Yao, Kiku, Gilbert, Antonio, and even Francis. That was perhaps one of his better memories, "You'd love to find out wouldn't you," he commented with a smile. Alfred blushed as Arthur got closer and slowly whispered, "There is a reason other than resources I took India and China." It was proven fact that China was known for its indulgent history, they were perhaps one of the masters of sensuality, they knew how to push every button. He had spent a long time with Yao as well as Kiku, "Choose, the island or the bed," he commented with a smirk as he slowly pushed Alfred backward. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes which made Alfred shiver. "How about we make it up as we go along?" asked Alfred nervously.

Arthur grinned as his fingers slowly slipped down Alfred's shirt, the fabric was soft and made him want to rip it from his body. "Then. We. Will. Go. One. Step. At. A. Time," he commented, he was careful to punctuate each word. The American swallowed nervously as Arthur swiftly unclasped Alfred's belt. The Englishman paused before slowly unbuttoned Alfred's trousers and proceeded to kneeling on the cold tile floor. Arthur was grinning as he slowly grabbed the zipper of Alfred's fly with his teeth and pulled it down. His emerald greens looked up playfully at Alfred, he was smirking like a bandit as he gently tugged at the waist band of the American's pants. "Love, it seems you're overdressed, let's see what we can do about that," he commented. His thumbs slipped into the belt loops of Alfred's jeans before giving them a firm tug down.

Alfred hummed nervously as the Englishman looked at his length, "My, you're excited down here," he mused. Arthur grinned before he slowly licked Alfred's length, he had left his underwear on and had a feeling Alfred was more than anxious to get to the screwing. However, foreplay was something Arthur was one to love, after all building the tension was just as important to getting down to business. His deft fingers tugged at the waist band of Alfred's red, white and blue boxers. "Now you're over dressed," hissed Alfred. Arthur noticed how nervous the young man seemed and began to wonder if he had ever done this with anyone. The Englishman rose from the floor, he smiled coyly before leaning whispering, "Then undress me." He could smell Alfred's after shave and internally moaned, it had been far too long since he was one with anyone. He felt a pair of large calloused hands slip down the front of his grass green cashmere sweater and tug at the bottom. Arthur's lips collided with Alfred's as he snaked his arms around the tall American's neck. He had to stand on his toes just to reach, those plump lips which had teased him for so long.

Alfred's strong hands gently lifted the Englishman's sweater up and began to pull it to remove it from him. Arthur's tongue slipped into Alfred's mouth once again before he pulled away and allowed for Alfred to remove it. He was standing in a pristine white tee-shirt, it tented where Arthur's hardening nipples were and the Englishman could feel the friction of the cotton against his tender skin. Alfred reached for the hem of Arthur's shirt and swiftly pulled it over the man's head. The cold air touched Arthur's skin as he did this causing him to shiver a little. He could feel Arthur's heated gaze on him, it was as though those sky blue eyes were devouring him, inch by inch. He wasn't as impressive as Alfred, who had tanned skin and a toned body. He was leaner and not as bulky with lily white skin and a few scars he had received when he was younger and used to brawl with others. His green eyes lifted as Alfred hesitantly touched Arthur's skin, they were covered in calloused from guitars and ropes which he had used with horses and cattle. He wasn't a fool to believe that all Alfred did was play videogames. He had known Alfred long enough to know the young man loved horses.

"Beautiful," whispered Alfred as he admired the silky smooth skin beneath his fingers, despite the scars from Arthur's years of war and raiding as a pirate, he was still beautiful. His fingers seemed to move on their own as he slowly explored Arthur's body, from his slender neck to his square shoulders and delectable collar-bone. Arthur moaned as Alfred's fingers brushed over his nipples, which caused the American to pause. He had no idea men were sensitive there as well, he gently rubbed one of the hardening buds, causing Arthur to shiver with pleasure. "Alfred," he moaned as he closed his eyes. Without a second thought Alfred gently lifted Arthur up and placed him on the island so they were eye level with one another. There was still flour covering the island, however the knife and everything else was in the sink. The Englishman was known for cleaning as he cooked, which was why he could function in the small space. "We are going to be covered in flour you know," commented Arthur teasingly. Alfred hummed as he gently kissed the base of Arthur's neck; his skin was sweet and soft under his lips.

One of Alfred's hands slowly slipped down Arthur's spine, stroking the soft skin which was interrupted from scars which marred his skin. Long scars from the slash of a saber, star like scars from bullets and musket balls, clearly Alfred had finally caught himself a pirate. His tongue caressed one of Arthur's nipples before he slowly tugged on it with his teeth. Arthur jerked and gasped, "Alfie," his green eyes fluttered closed. Alfred could feel Arthur's heart beating a mile a minute under his smooth now flushed skin. Heat pooled in his groin as he continued to explore Arthur's body. "Alfred, the bed," Arthur whispered between gasps as Alfred kissed down his abdomen. The American smiled as he picked Arthur up off the island with his hands cradling his ass. The Englishman chuckled as he wrapped his legs around Alfred and draped his arms around those broad shoulders he had admired for so long.

Arthur's lips captured Alfred's and in a craze Alfred made it into the dining room and placed the Englishman on the table. Arthur moaned as he felt the tablecloth under his bare back and Alfred's hands roaming over his skin, claiming him as his. "Alfie," he whispered again as he slowly sat up and looked at him. "I want to taste you," he commented as he caressed the hardening member. It was larger than he anticipated, but welcome. Alfred hissed and looked at him through hooded sky blue eyes.

He got on the table and smiled as Arthur slowly caressed his length, it was getting harder each time he stroked it. Arthur grinned as he watched Alfred pant, "My, this looks delicious," he whispered as he slowly licked up the shaft. His soft wet tongue ran over each inch of him, savoring Alfred's taste. His other hand gently cradled Alfred's balls as he went, "I want every inch of you," he whispered huskily. Arthur slowly licked the slit of Alfred hard member, which elicited a moan from the young man. His tongue slipped around the head as he continued to tease him, his fingers still working his tentacles as he moved. Alfred fell back on the table and moaned loudly, he was even harder than before and the Englishman grinned, this was perhaps the largest member he had ever had a chance to play with. He honestly couldn't wait to feel it spread him. The Englishman's skilled tongue slipped down Alfred's shaft and wrapped around his testicles before he gently sucked. "Fuck! Artie!" Alfred cried loudly as he twitched. Arthur chuckled darkly as he slowly took the member into his mouth and descended.

Alfred's walls were crumbling as the Englishman took the entire length into his mouth and sucked hard. "Artie," Alfred gasped as his hands found themselves in sandy blond hair. His fingers knotted in the blond mop as the Englishman slowly sucked and licked the member, it was as though he were enjoying an ice cream. Emerald eyes glanced up to see the flushed face of Alfred's, his eyes were closed, and he was panting, "Arthur," he gasped as the Englishman decided to get a little more aggressive. Years ago Yao had taught him how to deep throat, and he was suddenly happy to be able to do so. Alfred was just far too large to resist. His tongue wrapped around the base of the member as he went sucking as hard as he could, cradling it in his mouth and shielding his teeth so he didn't bite the American by accident. He could feel the thick hot member growing larger in his mouth and taste the pre-cum which was now leaking from the tip. He tasted divine to the Englishman, far better than the scones did. "Arthur, I can't" wimped Alfred, his delectable moans filled the air like music to the Englishman's ears. "Gonna," he gasped, "Cum." Arthur hummed sending shock waves through the young man, he squeezes the base and whispered, "Oh no, not before this goes in me," he whispered deviously.

There was a sating ribbon on the table from a package he had opened several days ago. It was a gift from Roderich, and as always he had packaged it in colors which were identical to the Austrian flag. He pulled the long bright red silk cord and grinned as he tied it tightly around the base of Alfred's throbbing member. "No, Artie," he moaned, "Let me cum." Arthur chuckled as he finished tying a beautiful bow; he admired his handy work for a moment and chuckled as he teased the slit with his thumb. "You have to satisfy me first," he whispered as he leaned back and spread his legs. It had been a while since anyone had sex with him and he knew he would have to be stretched. Arthur licked his fingers and grinned, he knew he was hard and had a feeling this view was more than enough of an invitation for Alfred. His skin was covered in a faint flush, those emerald eyes were hooded and filled with lust as his pink tongue caressed each finger.

Alfred gulped has he looked at the Englishman, "What do I do?" he asked nervously. It was clear he was nervous, Arthur had a feeling that he had been Alfred's side dish, but he never actually thought he would be able to do this. "Watch my fingers," instructed Arthur as he continued to suck on them so they were coated with a thick layer of saliva. He could feel Alfred's hungry eyes on him and enjoyed the attention as he popped them out of his mouth and licked his lips. His free hand slid down his chest as the fingers he had licked made their way to his ass, "Women give you two option, however, with men you have one and something to play with," he commented as he slipped one of his fingers in. "Oh!" he moaned as he jerked from the sudden invasion of his own fingers. He was always uncomfortable when he started stretching himself. "You have to stretch," he gasped and jerked as his finger went deeper, "me," he hummed. His head jerked back as he slipped in a second finger and closed his eyes. It had been so long since someone held him, "Oh… ah," he moaned as he slowly opened his eyes and looked at Alfred.

Those sky blue eyes were hungrily locked on his finger, "Want to try?" he panted as he tilted his head to the side and smiled mischievously. Alfred was more than happy to comply as he licked his fingers, strangely he had obeyed and not removed the binding now around his thick member, it was tight, and he could tell Alfred wanted him. Arthur continued to thrust his own fingers into himself as Alfred licked his and then approached him. He had dreamed of those fingers invading him at night, part of him had through it was wrong, yet now it didn't matter. Those fingers which played guitar and video games, they were covered in callused from working on fences and working with rope. He slowly pulled his fingers out to allow Alfred to slip in his. Arthur licked his lips as Alfred slipped two fingers in him. "Ah!" he cried as he felt those two long fingers slide into him easily. "Move them," Arthur commanded as his hips rocked by themselves.

Alfred slowly began to thrust his fingers into the Englishman, with each thrust he experimented with the angle. He had heard Francis talking to Yao once about sex; he had heard something about a bundle of nerves that when hit would make the bottom scream. Alfred's eyes narrowed as he searched spreading Arthur as he went, he could feel Arthur's tight entrance squeezing his fingers, it was amazing how tight the man was. "Alfred, add another," whimpered Arthur as he fell back onto his elbows. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat and the man moaned with pleasure. Clearly Alfred was doing something right, however he wanted to make the man scream his name. "Where is it?" he whispered in frustration as he continued to scissor his fingers. He thrust further into him and was about to give up when Arthur jumped and cried out, "Alfred!" His fingers had swept over the bundle of nerves he had searched for. "Found it," he proclaimed with a grin. Alfred blushed brightly and moaned louder as Alfred began his assault on his Prostate with his fingers. "Dear god!" cried Arthur as he fell flat on the table with his legs spread and shivers racked his body. Alfred took this as a sign to add a third finger and continued his menstruation.

Arthur reamed with pleasure as he felt another hand grasp his leaking member, "Oh… Al… please," he whimpered as he felt that large hand stroke him. His mind was going numb and there was only one thing at this point he wanted, "Give it to me," he whined as he felt Alfred mercilessly lick the top of his member. He hadn't received this much pleasure in decades. "Fuck me," he gasped as he looked at Alfred, who was smiling with glee. "As you wish," he responded before pulling his fingers out of Arthur's ass and lined his member up to take him. He paused and Arthur could sense his anxiety. "Al, it's alright, you stretched me," Arthur panted. He slowly sat up and slipped his hand into Alfred's hair, it was oily and he could tell he desperately wanted to do it. "You won't hurt me," he whispered as he gently pushed Alfred backward so he was laying on the table.

His hips straddled the young American's and he smiled, "I love you," he whispered as he slowly descended on Alfred's throbbing member. It was far larger than he had anticipated, "Oh!" he cried out. Arthur's hands rested on Alfred's chest as he continued to take him in. His eyes closed as he finally took the rest of Alfred's massive length inside of him. He could feel the thick hard length filling every inch of him, spreading him as far as possible. "Ah!" he whimpered and he slowly lifted his hips and slipped back down. "So thick," he cried as he slowly picked up pace, his hips moved on their own and his lips fell open. With each movement moans fell from them, his mind was going numb as he felt a primal fire take over. His eyes closed and his head fell back as he continued to ride the young man. "Alfred," he moaned as he continued to move, he felt those large hands rest on his hips, gently guiding him to his length. He lifted up only to feel Alfred snap his hips upward, forcing his length even deeper. "FUCK!" Arthur cried as he felt his prostate take the hit. He fell on Alfred's chest as the American bucking his hips, with each thrust he was burning himself deeper inside of the Englishman. "Alfred," he cried as he felt that delectable length push him new heights.

A smile curled the young man's lips as he moved. "SO fucking tight!" exclaimed Alfred as he squeezed the Englishman's ass and continued to thrust. "How long?" asked Alfred as he licked Arthur's ear and continued to invade the man. He could feel Arthur squeezing his member relentlessly, clinging to him for dear life. "A decade?" asked Alfred as he slowly sat up so the Englishman was in his lap and continued to move. Arthur wrapped his legs around him and moaned. "A Century?" he asked again, he wanted to know how long had this proper man desired to be screwed by him. How long had he desired to be caressed and invaded by him. "Since World War Two," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Alfred's shoulders. Alfred picked up pace as he laid the Englishman on his back again and adjusted his position, with the full intention of Arthur not being able to walk the next day. "How many times did you dream of me taking you?" he asked. There was no way Arthur could lie now, he was drowning in pleasure. "I don… don't… oh… kn..oh!" he cried as Alfred pounded him. "Cumming," Arthur cried as he shivered with pleasure, his figures reached for the long string, and he pulled it before climaxing. "Dear god! Alfred!" he screamed as his back arched off the table and he came on his chest. It was thick and as white as cream.

Alfred followed ramming into him one last time, before filling Arthur with his semen. He promptly collapsed on top of Arthur, his heart was pounding a mile a minute and he felt a pleasant numbness take over. He felt warm, safe and loved as the Englishman wrapped his arms around him. "I love you too," whispered Alfred as he kissed Arthur's neck. Arthur hummed as he returned the kiss, it felt wonderful to be inside of Arthur, however he knew it was probably uncomfortable. The American slowly sat up and pulled out of the now exhausted blond haired man, "You were so hot," commented Alfred with a smile as he reached for a napkin to clean Arthur's chest, he had no idea how to get his semen out of Arthur. "You were just as hot, Love," commented Arthur groggily as he attempted to sit up. His eyes fell on Alfred's rather nervous sky blues, he smiled gently and commented, "I'll get it out later love."

Arthur smiled as he sat up and held out his arms for Alfred, "Carry me to bed, I don't think I can walk," he commented lightly. It was a pleasant feeling to feel loved, he also knew he wouldn't be able to move after a round of sex with Alfred. A deep blush covered Alfred's face as he gently picked Arthur up. Once again Arthur was in those strong arms, he hoped would protect him for as long as possible. He hummed before closing his eyes and snuggling into that broad chest. "I'm sleepy," commented the Englishman as Alfred began to carry him up the stairs. "Let's sleep together then," Alfred responded, his voice rumbled through his chest as he climbed the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

_I couldn't leave you hanging with Francis, so I decided to wrap things up. Francis fan's don't worry, his turn will come. The recipe for the scones is at the end. Please enjoy and thank you for reading. _

_Kuro._

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**Part 6: The Chef's Muse**

There was silence in the house, the smell of all the baking which had been done by the lonesome Frenchman was gone. He sighed as he walked over to the wine cooler and pulled out a bottle of Merlot. His fingers caressed the green bottle, it was cold, and he admired the label, "1924," he whispered as he looked at the yellowing label. "An end to the war between us as Napoleon challenged you from across the channel," he muttered as he placed the bottle on the counter. He could remember the day Arthur entered dressed in the bright red coat and medals across his chest. He could be mistaken as a pirate if it weren't for the fact he was carrying an order from her majesty. His boots clicked against the floor, and he stood proud for a nation which was so small.

Francis reached into the drawer and pulled out the silver bottle opener, his fingers wrapped around the hand turn as he pierced the cork with the screw. That bold red jacket and determined green eyes, it was then he had fallen in love with the man. He popped the cork out of the bottle and placed both the cork screw and the cork on the counter before pouring the dark red liquid in the glass. "That's the day I fell in love with you," he whispered as he swirled the wine in the short red wine glass and took a sniff of the bouquet. It was fragrant and sweet, yet there was a bitterness to it, "This bottle," he muttered before taking a sip. He could taste the sweetness disappear into bitterness, "A gift from you, my prize for trying," he commented as he laughed sadly. The bottle had been given to him during the signing of the Treaty of Paris, it was an olive branch. He never opened it, he refused to, he would only do so if he had Arthur in his arms. He picked the bottle up by the neck and wandered through the house with the glass in hand.

That moment that Arthur had confessed his feelings for Alfred nearly shattered him. Sure he had flirted with others, however most of it was an act for attention. The one he cared for was the one who fell in love with the young man he saw as a son. Francis sighed as he took a seat on the back wall outside. The bottle rested on the wall as he jumped up and took a seat. His feet brushed against the soft carpet of green bellow. The sun was going down, and he had a feeling Arthur and Alfred had not only made up but had a wonderful round of sex. It hurt. He was there when Arthur stopped eating and had entered the realm of Punks. He was there during the Industrial Revolution as the nation boomed at an alarming rate, but left most of its people in a state of poverty. Holding the trembling man after the disaster of the Titanic, he had felt responsible for all the pain he had caused. Francis could remember the pain in his eyes as he read about the number of losses. He spent his afternoon comforting him as he blamed himself for their deaths.

His head hung and long blond hair fell in his eyes as Francis looked at the liquor resting in the glass. "_Rouge(1)_," he whispered as he looked at it, "_comme passion(2)_," he commented before taking a sip. His eyes closed for a moment, "_Comme l'amour(3)_," he mused as he lowered the glass and rubbed his fingers around the rim. The glass hummed under his fingers as his blue eyes fell on his own reflection in the glass. His hands tightened their grasp, and without thinking he threw the glass against the wall. The sound echoed in his ears as it shattered, splintering in every direction. "_Merde_," he grumbled. Francis sighed as he looked at the clear shards now on the ground, he carefully leapt off the wall and bent down to grab one, only to nick his finger. A hiss left his lips, and he looked at the bright red ribbon now flowing down the tip of his finger. The bright red fluid flowered down the side and slowly fell to the patio. He laughed sadly as he looked at the red stain on the wood; tears which he had fought finally fell as the levies were breached. He could remember the blood shed, "_Comme le sang que nous versons (4)_," he whispered as he tasted the spices on his tongue. His eyes stung as he looked at the mess he had made, "Even now you have drawn my blood," he mused in sadness.

Francis finally gave into his instinct and began to sob, "Do you know why I chose cranberries, Arthur?" he asked. Knowing that the other person would never reply, he had no reason to be there. He closed his eyes and fell to his knees, without a thought Arthur had cut Francis down at the knee. "The color and their nature, fresh they are tart and rather sour, but when baked or dried," he whipped his eves with the back of his hand, "They become sweet." He bowed his head as he looked at the pain he was in, once again Arthur had cut him down mercilessly and not even realized it. "_Rouge, c'est votre coleur(5)_," he whispered before slowly rising and heading to the kitchen to grab the broom.

He opened the doors and walked across the kitchen to grab the wooden handle of the broom when his eyes fell on a white recipe card. He paused and looked at it sadly, he had crafted it for the Englishman in hopes that one day he would show up and reciprocate his love. "It appears that I was the one who waited too long," he whispered as he abandoned the card and walked out onto the patio to clean up the glass.

_**Cranberry Orange Scones:**_

_**Yields: 14 - 16 **_

_**Ingredients: **_

_4 cups of all purpose flour, plus_

_¼ cup of all purpose flour_

_¼ cup of refined sugar_

_2 tablespoons of baking powder_

_2 tablespoons of Kosher Salt_

_1 tablespoons of fresh grated orange zest_

_¾ lb of unsalted butter_

_4 extra large, lightly beaten eggs_

_1 cup of cold heavy cream_

_1 cup of dried cranberries_

_Egg wash:_

_1 egg, beaten_

_2 tablespoons of water_

_Sprinkle Sugar in the Raw on top of Scones to taste_

_**Directions:**_

_1.) Pre-heat the oven to 400 degrees F.  
_

_2.) In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, mix 4 cups of flour, 1/4 cup sugar, the baking powder, salt and orange zest. Add the cold butter and mix at the lowest speed until the butter is the size of peas. Combine the eggs and heavy cream and, with the mixer on low speed, slowly pour into the flour and butter mixture. Mix until just blended. The dough will look lumpy! Combine the dried cranberries and 1/4 cup of flour, add to the dough, and mix on low speed until blended.  
_

_3.) Dump the dough onto a well-floured surface and knead it into a ball. Flour your hands and a rolling pin and roll the dough 3/4-inch thick. You should see small bits of butter in the dough. Keep moving the dough on the floured board so it doesn't stick. Flour a 3-inch round plain or fluted cutter and cut circles of dough. Place the scones on a baking pan lined with parchment paper. Collect the scraps neatly, roll them out, and cut more circles.  
_

_4.) Brush the tops of the scones with egg wash, sprinkle with sugar, and bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until the tops are browned and the insides are fully baked. The scones will be firm to the touch. _

_* Remember to take humidity into account; it will produce a heavier scone. _

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**Translation:**

Rouge: Red

comme passion: like passion

Comme l'amour: like love

Comme le sang que nous versons: Like the blood we shed.

Rouge, c'est votre coleur: Red, that is your color.

Merde: shit (just in case you didn't know)

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_Please Note: Recipe is from the Food Network Show, Barefoot Contessa. Please note the glaze has been cut, it was too sweet for my taste, and Francis agreed. So it was cut._


End file.
